Beca and Books
by pennanomino
Summary: I took the Jesse and movies and turned it into Chloe and books. Beca falls for reading and a redhead at the same time. And maybe bitch slaps some treblemakers along the way. Written from Beca's perspective. Beca x Chloe. T for language.
1. Backpacks, Blondies, and Bazookas

Backpacks make pretty good pillows. It worked for me in the taxi I took to get to this godforsaken hellhole otherwise known as Barden University. It also kept me comfortable on the bus the first time I ran away.

My bag was tucked under my head now, while I listened to my new mix on the quad. I closed my eyes and focused, mentally noting all the places that needed tweaking. There weren't too many issues, modesty aside, it was one of my better pieces of work. As the last notes faded, the darkness on the inside of my eyelids got darker. Some jerk was blocking my sunlight.

I cracked one eye open, sarcasm at the ready. Unfortunately, where I expected to find a football toting moron or overeager geek was the gorgeous redhead, Chloe, who wanted me to audition for that stupid a cappella group.

She was crazy to think I would ever set foot on that stage, but she had nice eyes. I sat up and pushed my headphones down onto my neck, which was my equivalent of a warm, friendly greeting. The girl beamed at me.

"Hey! Have you thought about the audition?"

_Nope._ "I dunno. I'm really not into singing."

"Come on. You have a great voice. You _have_ to try out."

_Please._ "I don't know. Besides I don't think your blondie friend really wants me to."

"Oh, Aubrey just a little tense. She'll love you once she hears you sing."

_Riiight._ "I'll think about it. But the whole 'no-instruments' really isn't my thing."

"Just give it a try. And clearly I'm annoying you, so I'll go now."

I blinked. That was oddly perceptive. And honest. All of a sudden, I wasn't so bothered.

"I'm not annoyed." She looked at me suspiciously. "Really. Trust me, if I'm irritated with someone I tell them." The redhead laughed.

"I bet. Well, then I think I'll sit next to you. You do whatever you are always doing on that laptop and I'll read. We can mutually not annoy each other."

She plopped herself down on the grass. Worked for me. I returned my attention to my screen and she opened up a book that had seen better days. I couldn't help but notice the dog-eared pages and tattered binding. I wondered how many times she had read it.

When I was done with the few finishing touches I sat back and looked around me. Chloe was still there. As I turned to face her I met blue eyes peeking out over worn pages. They flashed back down to the book, but not fast enough.

"What?"

"What?" she parroted.

"Don't give me that. I saw you looking at me. What?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit." she mock gasped at my language.

"Rebecca Mitchel, I never."

"Seriously." I refused to be distracted. She blushed a little. _Okay, what makes a girl who barges into showers blush?_

"I was just watching you work. You were really focused." Now I was blushing a little.

"Um, yea. I guess I kind of zone in."

"It's a good thing."

"What about you?" I decided it was time to change the subject. "Book not good enough to hold your attention?"

Chloe gasped in all seriousness this time. I didn't know people actually gasped.

"This is a wonderful work of literature." She was serious. She just said "wonderful work of literature" and she was deadly serious.

I laughed. "Yea, I've heard the same thing from English teachers about 50 other books."

"Well, every book deserves respect. But some are just…" she sighed happily. I was now looking at her from the corners of my eyes. She probably got that a lot.

"If you say so. What book is it anyway?"

"_Pride and Prejudice."_ It might have been the Holy Grail the way she said the title.

"Jane Austen, right?" I was reaching way back into fuzzy memories of freshman English class. But she looked at me like I had asked if George Washington was the first American president.

"Yes it's by Jane Austen! She is a genius. I love all her books, obviously." _Obviously._

"But Pride and Prejudice is just special. I've lost track of how many times I've read it." She looked at me, her eyes suddenly three notches brighter, which was saying something.

"You should read it!"

_Uh-uh. _"I don't think so."

"You would love it."

_About as much as I'd love slow death._ "Doubtful."

"The main character is so much like you. Actually," she eyed me thoughtfully, "maybe you're more like Mr. Darcy. Neither of you talk much."

_Sounds like my kind of guy. _"Still, no offense, I'm not a huge fan of books." Now she was looking at me out of the corners of her eyes.

"You don't read?" As if I'd said I don't breathe.

"Not really. My mom taught me pretty young, but-" I stopped short. I didn't want to go there. That was not the kind of thing I talked about with anyone, never mind strange, bubbly redheads I barely knew. I shrugged. Chloe didn't ask. She just stared at me like a sad puppy. Those blue eyes really were killer.

"Here." She shoved the old hardcover into my hands. "Take it. Read it. Please."

I looked the book and I looked at her. Clearly 'no' was not an option. "Okay, but you really shouldn't-"

"No, no, I insist. Just please, try it." She said, standing and brushing the grass off her jeans. "Trust me it'll be good for you."

_If I had a penny for every time I heard that. _But I took the book anyway and placed it carefully in my backpack, trying to not tear any of the fragile pages. I figured I'd Cliffnote it and give it back to her later. She was already halfway across the green, but she turned and called back to me.

"Come to the audition!"

_Maybe I will._

* * *

It took me a solid fifteen minutes to decide whether or not I was actually going to the stupid tryout. So when I got to the theater I was already twenty minutes late. It took me another five to actually move far enough forward that Chloe would see me. Blonde Barbie was next to her, nose crinkled at the sight of me. Probably because I still had the ear spike in. _This should be fun._ I could have done Kelly Clarkson if I wanted, but I decided this was a good time to test whether or not they could actually deal with my "alternativeness".

So I used the trick I'd picked up ages ago on one of the bus rides I took. I still remember the tiny old lady who'd taught it to me. She'd had a cough that sounded like she'd smoked a pack a day since she was born, but she could still bring the house down. She could definitely take Aubrey with both hands tied behind her back.

When Chloe pulled a hood off my head a few hours later I assumed she'd convinced Aubrey to ignore my lack of traditionalism. Then blondie started going on about drinking blood. I was all set to get the hell out when Chloe told me it was punch. _Right_. It wasn't a trick I normally would've fallen for, but I could totally see Aubrey as a vampire.

As I looked around at the other new Bellas I figured out why Aubrey had ignored my ear spike. Compared to some of these kids I was freaking Martha Stewart. Ten seconds with that Asian girl and I was already sure she was a serial killer. Fat Amy was certifiably nuts and I wouldn't be surprised if Stacie slept with every guy on campus by the end of the year. Cynthia Rose seemed chill, and definitely gay. _Huh. Statistically improbable._ What where the odds of having two gay girls on the same 10-person singing team? I eyed Chloe and willed myself not to hope for a third.

It got a lot harder to not hope at the party when Chloe decided it would be a good idea to launch a full-scale invasion of my personal space. She was so close to me I could see the freckle she had right on the crook of her jaw and the smell of alcohol was so strong I thought I'd get drunk just standing there. She touched her forehead to mind and I tried to not think about how close together we were.

"I think we're gonna be really fast friends."

_Um. _I needed something to say. But smell of alcohol + Chloe's hands on my wrists + the proximity of her lips = fuzzy brain.

"Well, you saw me naked so…" _Did I just say that? I did _not_ just say that. _

Chloe just laughed like that didn't have fifteen innuendo meanings.

"It's a start." Now _there_ was a comment with subtext.

_Okay then. Maybe 3 out of 10 isn't too much to hope for._

Chloe hooked up with three guys that night. Hope sucks.

* * *

I take back everything I said about how a cappella may not be stupid after all. Someone needs to tell Aubrey that it is 2012. As in the 21st century. As in we should definitely not be singing "The Sign".

And apparently that someone is not me. My hints ranged from tactfulness worthy of fine diplomacy to the subtlety of bazookas. Nothing made an impact. Admittedly more of them tended toward bazookas, but hey, I was getting pissed.

The problem was that we were actually really good. We might look like a group of misfits and possibly, in Lily's case, asylum patients, but our singing kicked ass. And if we had a set list from this century, we could actually win something. Maybe win everything.

So there I was, singing songs that should be only be seen as bad quotes in 1990s yearbooks, thinking about what music would fit the group best. I would find myself making mixes that would, in Fat Amy's words: bitch slap the Treblemakers "so hard their man boobs would concave." But would little Ms. I-love-tradition-more-than-life let my ideas penetrate her unbelievably thick skull? (For those of you failing to pick up on my delicate hints of sarcasm, that was a rhetorical question.)

It's not like I'm alone in this. Fat Amy actually fell asleep during one of Aubrey's we-will-win-with-tradition speeches. The blondie was so caught up in herself she might not have noticed, but Amy has a pretty loud snore. Cynthia Rose breaks into raps basically whenever Aubrey leaves the room, some of which are pretty good, and all of which point out how bad our songs are. Lily…well, I don't know what Lily is thinking. But I'm pretty sure she wishes there was more room for beat boxing. Stacie, at the very least, hates the uniforms.

And I can see it in Chloe's eyes. She knows tradition isn't going to cut it. Not when a bunch of boys can make rows of teenage girls fall all over themselves with a couple of lines of "Right Round". She'll teach the stupid hand motions and sashays, but she doesn't have the same sparkle in her eyes that she did when we sang Titanium together. She's even tried to get Aubrey to listen to me. If there is one thing I really really hate about that blonde bitch, it's that she shuts down her best friend like I do my computer. I'm no expert on friends, but I'm pretty sure you are supposed to treat them like they're worth more than you precious designer jeans. Especially a friend like Chloe.

* * *

**All right, this is the first chapter of probably a three chapter fic. If anybody has any books they think would fit Bechloe, just put it in a review. **

**Note: i do not own pitch perfect or any of its characters. **


	2. New Plans

"Okay, I know you have definitely not started Pride and Prejudice yet, but for the day where you come to the realization that books are just as amazing as David Guetta, I have another legendary work of literature for you." Chloe announced as she marched into my room and flopped onto my bed.

I didn't bother putting the effort into protesting. I just took off my headphones and accepted a book with a cover so worn that I could barely make out the image of a small girl stepping through a wooden door. "Secret Garden" looped across the page in dull silver.

"My gran gave me this to me when I was eleven. I was all sad because I came in 2nd place-"

"For shame!" I mocked. She giggled.

"Tease all you want. Back then I thought I'd ruined my singing career. Gran told me to get over myself, but she also gave me this. I read it whenever I feel like I failed."

I had been examining the faded type on the back, but I looked up at her words.

"You should never feel like you've failed. Ever. I don't actually think I ever seen you screw anything up."

"I botched the dance steps just yesterday!"

"Okay, clearly we have different definitions of screwing up. Screwing up is failing out of a class or getting fired. Screwing up is running away from home for five days just because you want to. Screwing up is cheating on your sick wife with your assistant and then fighting every inch of alimony. That's screwing up. Moving your left foot instead of your right in a sashay is not screwing up." I took a breath. Damn. What was it about Chloe that made me reveal things prolonged torture couldn't get me to talk about with anyone else?

And then she was looking at me and I was trying to figure out what it was I was seeing in those ridiculously blue eyes and we were kind of close together and I noticed how pretty her lips were and I was leaning in and…

And then Kimmy Jim walked in.

Chloe closed her eyes and I wondered if it was really frustration I saw on her face. I stared at her as she leaned back against the wall. It was a couple seconds before I formulated something vaguely close to coherent thought and realized I should probably look away. _Hell._

I was thinking about blue eyes and pretty lips a long time after Chloe left.

* * *

Someone failed to tell me that when you connect your knuckles with someone's face it hurts like a _bitch_.

Also apparently when the police arrest you they can take your phone and call your father to resolve the situation. If they'd asked I could have told them my father doesn't solve problems, he causes them.

He spent the car ride informing me that I was a reckless idiot who should be long past these kinds of "moods". Like I'd had a temper tantrum and chucked the trophy through the window on purpose. He was blabbing on about my need to control my impulses and think things through when he dropped the bombshell.

"You are certainly not going to L.A. after this fiasco." All of a sudden, I was done.

"What gives you the right to tell me where I can and cannot go?"

"What?"

"Do you need me to rephrase that? I thought it was simple enough."

"Beca, I am your father-"

"Great. So half my DNA is yours. Unlucky for me, but so what?"

"How are you going to live there without my support?"

"Dad I decided I wanted to DJ in L.A. when I was _ten._ I saved every bit of babysitting and allowance I earned since that day. I'll manage."

"Oh, all of a sudden you're financially independent," he sneered. "Well, are you so wealthy that you have a spare 2000 bucks?"

"What?!"

"That was your bail. I paid it. Since I've been demoted to sperm donor, I think I deserve my money back." I ran through the numbers in my head. I needed that 2,000 for travel and rent. No way I could go to L.A. short that much. But I didn't have a choice.

"Fine. You'll have it by tomorrow." He glanced at me, clearly surprised. Either he didn't believe I'd actually saved up, or he thought I'd obey him before giving up that much money. Fat chance. This was my life we were talking about. I'd come up with the cash somehow.

We spent the rest of the ride in silence. My dad was fuming and I was thinking of the fastest way to get a hold of 2 grand.

I was debating trying to get myself hired as a DJ for a couple of parties when I walked into my room and found the Bellas sprawled on my bed and on the floor. I would deny it on my deathbed, but the sight of them made me unreasonably happy. At least until Aubrey turned it into another lecture on tradition and shut me down. Again.

Worse, I saw the look in Chloe's eyes when she noticed the mixing software on my computer. She knew I could help the Bellas win. But not when blondie wouldn't even let me touch the keys.

Chloe hung back after the meeting.

"Tell me the truth. How good are you at mixing?"

"I've been putting songs together since my mom bought me a keyboard for my tenth birthday."

"That didn't answer my question."

"I'm no David Guetta but I'm pretty good."

"I guess that's the best I'm gonna get. I didn't stay to badger you anyway, I wanted to give you this." I found myself the recipient of a third book worn away at the edges.

"_The Tenant of Wildfell Hall." _I read aloud, taking in the features of the beautiful women holding some kind of journal on the front cover.

"It's by one of the Bronte sisters, so its no quick read but it's absolutely brilliant."

"You just don't give up, do you?"

She grinned coyly. "Never."

* * *

The Bellas were crumbling into little itty-bitty pieces.

We had barely made it through states. We were setting records for putting audiences to sleep; I actually saw a guy drop off halfway through "The Sign" and his wife didn't even bother waking him up. Practice wasn't helping; we were going from flat to flatter.

Meanwhile the Trebles were reducing rows of girls to Bieber-style hysteria and bringing the entire audience to their feet.

We were screwed. And not because we couldn't sing. We could break into a kickass harmony at the drop of a hat when we sang songs from _this_ century. But the prospect of Aubrey changing her mind about the set list was about as likely as Fat Amy losing 100 pounds.

So, yeah, when we got to regionals I took matters into my own hands. I started into Titanium in the middle of the song. It was totally unplanned, and worse yet, completely not Aubrey-authorized. A.k.a it was awesome.

While I was expecting a nuclear explosion from Aubrey, complete with fraying hair and crazy eyes, I wasn't expecting my only support to come from Fat Amy.

Later I would call myself 17 kinds of idiot. What did I think was going to happen? That Chloe would just jump to my defense and miraculously get through Aubrey's incredibly thick skull? I should have known better. It was stupid.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt like a sucker punch when blue eyes failed to meet mine in the hallway where Aubrey decided the Bellas were better off without me and I decided I was better off without Chl- without the Bellas.

The only thing that went right that entire day was that Kimmy Jim wasn't there when I got back to my room. I dropped all my shit and moved over to my computer, fully intending to drown myself in anything that didn't sound like "Titanium". I caught my toe on something sticking out from under by bed. It was a stack of books that promptly scattered, and three frail paperbacks sprawled on the floor in front of me. The three books Chloe had deluded herself into believing I would read. I half-considered chucking them out the window. But I didn't. For some inexplicable reason I picked _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_ off the floor and flipped through its musty pages.

It smelled like my mom's old study.

I went over to my bed and leaned against the wall, the book on my lap, the woman on the cover staring up at me. Almost without deciding to, I opened the book and started reading.

* * *

Lucky for me there are a lot of parties on campus and all of them want cheap DJ's. I could do a few hours for 200 bucks. Once people realized my music was actually good, I had at least two gigs a weekend. Two months later and I'd made all the money back and then some. I could've stayed to save up some serious funds, but I was dying to get out of Barden. At least in L.A. I wouldn't be afraid to turn my head every time red hair flashed in the corner of my eye.

I was all set to go. I planned on calling my dad from the plane; otherwise he might try to chain me to a post or something. I had my bags packed. My precious laptop and keyboard were secure in their cases. I left my college notes in a chaos of a paper on my desk. Everything was ready and I was literally looking up the taxi cab number when I saw the worn corner of an old paperback buried in a pile of useless philosophy sheets, and I made a decision.

I walked across the quad and found my way to the upper classmen dorms. It was 6 a.m. and totally silent. Room 334 B, I remembered. I inhaled, reminding myself that I was never going to see her again, so whatever. I knocked.

I knew she'd be awake, probably making tea. Sure enough the door swung open to reveal an alert, though confused, Chloe. If she was wondering why anyone would knock on her door at 6, her questions multiplied when she saw me. I skipped the small talk.

"I'm leaving."

"What?"

"I just thought you should know. Tell the Bellas if they ask."

"Wha- Where are you going?"

"L.A."

"I thought your dad wasn't going to help you."

"He's not." Chloe clearly wasn't going to just let this go. I sighed, and tried for the shortest explanation possible.

"My ex has an apartment she's willing to rent to me cheap for a while. I'll find a couple of club gigs while I look for a producing company willing to train me. Once I get some experience I should be good to go. With any luck I'll be wildly successful in a couple of years."

"Your ex?_She?"_ Oh, shit. I planned on telling her I was leaving, not coming out of the closet. Screw it.

"Yea, also by the way I'm gay." She blinked and something flickered across her face, but I couldn't figure out what it was and at this point, it wasn't worth worrying about.

"You're not going to finish college?" She changed tracks.

"What, stick around for four years, cutting class, mixing on the quad, and being useless? There's nothing for me here." I knew she would hear the implied, 'not anymore'.

"Aubrey will-"

"Aubrey will what? Take me back? Suddenly decide my ideas are gems of wisdom? Never going to happen and you know it. Besides nationals was the only competition that mattered and you guys are out." Something flashed in her eyes. "You are out, aren't you?"

"One of the kids on the second place team might have been too young. They're checking it out now. It's a chance."

"Yea, a chance for the Bellas to put all of Lincoln Center to sleep with the most boring set list in the history of mankind. Face it, "The Sign" will never win anything. So you go enjoy your chance and I'll follow what has been my dream since age ten."

"Don't you ever have new dreams? About life-" she hesitated. "Life with friends and…and family? Don't you want that, too?"

I stared at her. What the hell was she doing?

"I thought I did." I found myself being honest. "But then I remembered."

"Remembered what?"

"That I don't live in fucking _Pride and Prejudice_. There's no perfect love story, not for me. No one falls for a commitment-phobe with an ear spike. I'm better off alone. It's for the best."

"You don't really think that." As much as it hurt, I met the sadness in her eyes squarely.

"Why would I think otherwise?"

* * *

**Sorry this is incredibly late. I had a permanent deluge of homework. Anyway, here it is, hope you like it and thanks to anyone who reviewed the first chapter, even if you don't read the second. **

**Note: I do not own pitch perfect or any of its characters.**


	3. Stepping Up and Backing Down

I was at the airport when I got the text.

_We're in. Meeting, 3 p.m. today. _

_-Cynthia_

If it was Chloe I could have blown it off. Cynthia's name on my screen poked the part of my conscience that was still a little sore over ditching the Bellas.

_Am I really going to do this to myself?_

I looked up to check flight times.

* * *

Whatever I had expected, this was not it.

Aubrey and Chloe were in a catfight that resembled a bad episode of Jersey Shore. Fat Amy was also seizing hair and throwing punches, though I suspected she was in it for fun. Most of the team was in the top row of seats, apparently trying to get as far away from the large pile of puke as possible.

It was a madhouse.

"What the _hell_ is going on?"

They stopped, turned and stared. I raised an eyebrow, carefully looking only at the team in the stands. They blinked, all started to talk, all shut up, and then all glanced at Aubrey and Chloe. I switched my gaze to the same pair, schooling my face carefully. This was no time for Chloe drama.

The story finally tumbled out in a stream of interruptions and contradictions that was classic Bella chaos. Aubrey and Chloe stayed quiet. I could actually feel their eyes on my face, but I was careful. I kept looking at the other girls and distracted myself with the insanity of their story. It made almost no sense, but when they finally finished I nodded as if I understood completely.

Then suddenly people were making all sorts of confessions and I felt like I should probably join in. I'd be damned if I was going to come out (again) with Chloe standing right there, and there were some other dark places I was so not going to go right then, so I picked a secret a little closer to the surface. My spiel about not having friends may have been cheesy, but it was true and it seemed to work for everyone else. Except there was a certain redhead who flinched a little when I talked and she still wouldn't frickin' look away.

Then Aubrey stood up and said something for the first time in ten minutes. I went from being surprise that she had stayed quiet that long to shocked that Aubrey was admitting she'd made mistakes to completely stupefied that blondie was turning control of the Bellas over to an alternative girl with an ear spike.

My uncertainty over whether or not the whole thing was reality may have been what inspired me to pick Just a Dream as the counterpart to Just the Way You Are. The rational part of my brain screamed at me to stop before it was too late, but I couldn't help it. Like how I couldn't help meeting Chloe's eyes for one gorgeous moment. For the half-second it was like Titanium all over again, with the perfect harmony I could feel in my toes. But even music like can't cause amnesia and half a second later I switched my gaze back to Aubrey. When the last notes faded and they broke into cheers, everyone was way too excited to notice how two smiles were a little fixed.

* * *

We started kicking ass and taking names. Rehearsals were all gorgeous harmony and epic beats. I found myself spending less time singing and more time listening, trying to figure out which songs would best fit our voices. To everyone's utter amazement, I now spent nearly as much time with Aubrey as I did with my headphones on. We were mostly working on her glaringly pink laptop, trying to perfect the set list. I discovered that Aubrey's unmanageable and exasperating case of OCD did have at least one benefit—the blondie could line up beats so perfectly the music had none of the jagged edges that could totally screw a mix.

Pretty soon we had it all figured out. There was room for Lily's beat boxing and Fat Amy's insanity and Aubrey's need to be in the spotlight. The beat was earth shaking, the dance moves were rocking, and—of course—the harmony was pitch perfect.

I was slumped in a chair, eyes shut so I could focus on the sound of the Bellas, listening carefully for any note that didn't quite fit. I made a mental note to have Amy tone down the enthusiasm until she got to her solo, her volume was overpowering. The lasts chords died out. I opened my eyes and pushed myself out of the chair. I hopped the railing in front of my seat and landed lightly on the performance floor.

I faked a solemn expression, and the radiance of the Bellas began to dim. They looked at me warily.

"What?" Amy asked. "Wasn't that good?"

"No." I bent my head gravely. "That wasn't good."

I let the shock and disappointment linger in the air for a few seconds, before I finally let them off the hook. I looked up and grinned.

"That was _epic._"

It took them half a second to break into cheers. Amy fake slapped me and Aubrey mock-frowned. Lily glared at me and for a few moments I was in legitimate fear for my life, but fortunately she broke into a smile of her own. Everyone was far too pleased at our success to take any offense. Chloe's laugh bubbled up and I looked over at her. She curved her lips into an unfairly beautiful smirk, and I only just managed to answer with a passable smile of my own.

I gathering my stuff, sorting through hope and excitement and fear and some other as yet unidentified emotions, when a finger tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to meet blue eyes and blonde hair.

"What can I do for you Aubrey?"

"Well, I never though I'd say this." She hesitated, then plunged forward. "It's something I can do for _you_."

"And what is that? More thoughts on the set list?" I doubted that was it. She had none of the half-crazed excitement that meant it had something to do with the Bella's.

"It's not about the Bellas. Well, not really. It's about a Bella."

_Oh_. _Shit._

I played dumb. Like dumb as rocks. "Yeah, I'm going to ask Amy to cool it in the earlier songs. I heard her throwing off the volume too."

I realized too late the sincerity in my voice was the biggest giveaway ever. I was never sincere.

"Dammit Beca!"

I actually took a step back. Not proud of it, but I could almost see the sparks flying from Aubrey's eyes and it was more than a little intimidating.

"You know I'm not talking about Amy. And if you weren't such a coward, you would just stand up and admit it."

"Excuse me? Coward?"

"Lily-livered, scaredy-cat, chicken-hearted _coward_!"

"That has to be the weirdest verbal abuse I have ever received."

"That's exactly what I mean. Whenever you don't want to face something, you hide behind your sarcasm and your jokes and just pretend you don't care. But you do care, it's written all over your face."

I broke.

"_So what?_ So what if I fucking care? So what if I can barely look at her anymore because it hurts so damn bad? So what if she's just another reminder of how my life is eternally fucked up? So fucking _what_?"

Her turn to back down. The sparks died out, and she looked at me with...pity. As if my day could get any worse, Aubrey Posen was pitying me. Sweet Jesus.

"Beca, listen to me. It's not just that you care. _She _cares. Chloe cares."

I didn't want to hear that. It was things like that that brought my hopes up so far that when they fell, it was like falling off a cliff.

"Don't say that."

"I have to. You must have seen it, Beca. When she looks at you, how can you not see it?"

"Because it's not there."

"It is."

"It can't be."

She looked at me strangely.

"What does that even mean?"

"Doesn't matter. This conversation is over, anyway."

I turned to go.

"Beca, there is something you should know."

"Enough, Aubrey."

"It's about the Bellas."

I sighed and turned to face her a couple steps from the door, ready to run if I needed to.

"At nationals the judges pick the best singer to do an encore performance after the winners are announced."

"So?"

"Be ready."

* * *

**I would offer one thousand and one apologies for this being so incredibly late, but nothing I could say would actually properly make up for it. Suffice to say I am really,_ really_ sorry. My hectic life hasn't really left time for writing. Cross my heart and hope to die, the next chapter will be up soon. **

**Sorry!**


	4. Titanium Walls

We crushed it. Like dropped a house on it. We were so good I kinda felt bad for the other groups. Almost.

Were the Treblemakers good? Yea, sure, I'll give Jesse credit for putting together a decent set. But they had nothing on us. Between Amy's insanity and Lily's sick beatboxing and Aubrey's perfect soprano and Chloe's sexy moves and my epic beat, we took first place like candy from a baby.

While everyone jumped and screamed around me, I just tried to keep the smile on my face, waiting for the encore announcement. There was a cliff in front of me and I didn't know if there were rocks or water on the other side.

"The winner of Best Singer this year is…Beca Mitchell! Beca, please come up on stage to give us an encore performance."

Fat Amy shrieked with excitement. Lily whistled. Chloe smiled happily. Aubrey looked at me knowingly.

Meanwhile I was seriously considering an all-out sprint to the nearest exit.

_Must have really grown up this year. _I thought as I walked on stage instead. _Or gone totally insane. One of the two. _

I set up my iPod, fingers automatically scrolling to the track I had spent every spare moment on for the last few weeks.

It started quietly, almost no bass, not much of a beat at all actually. This wasn't dancing music.

I wondered if Chloe could hear the strains of Titanium that were in there. She probably could, she had a great ear for that kind of thing. I was oddly calm now, walking to the front of the stage. I reached out, took the microphone in one hand and raised it.

"_I am titanium"_

My whisper echoed around the auditorium. Down in the suddenly silent crowd below, blue sparked as a pale face turned toward me.

I sat on the edge of the stage, faced the crowd, faced Chloe, and started to sing.

The lyrics were from all over the place, whatever I thought would help me say what I wanted to. I hadn't bothered borrowing anything as far as music went; I knew I would be composing something of my own for this performance.

The words went something like this:

_I've got some issues that nobody can see_

_And all of these emotions are pouring out of me _

_Listen while I bring them to the light _

_This is the soundtrack to my life _

_The soundtrack to my life_

_What's wrong with my tongue?_

_These words keep slipping away_

_I stutter, I stumble _

_Like I've got nothing to say_

_But I don't want to live_

_To waste another day_

_Underneath the shadow of mistakes I made _

_Because I feel like I'm breaking inside_

_Welcome to fallout, welcome to resistance_

_The tension is here, the tension is here_

_Between who I am and who I could be_

_Between how it is and how it should be_

_But here I am still holding on_

_I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose _

_Fire away, fire away_

_Ricochet, you take your aim_

_Fire away, fire away_

_You shoot me down but I won't fall_

_I am titanium_

_I am titanium_

I got up slowly and replaced the microphone in the stand. The last notes died out. Just before the spellbound crowd had a chance to react, I leaned into the mike and whispered,

"Or at least, I pretend to be."

Beyond the fringes of crowd that was now a frenzy of stamping and cheering and screaming, my eyes could just barely make out the strands of red hair disappearing out an exit door.

I exited stage left and went to meet a storm, wondering how bulletproof I really was.

I rounded a corner at a near-sprint, praying she hadn't already left. Skidding on the plastic tile, I nearly tripped over myself as I came to a sudden stop. Chloe was standing in the middle of the hall, less than ten feet away. She turned and faced me.

Without a word she slowly walked up to me, leaned forward, and…

Slapped me. Hard.

I staggered back, cursing.

"Ow! Shit! Chloe!"

"You bitch! You bastard! How dare you! Why would you do that to me!"

She didn't seem to notice the tears that slid down her face; they certainly didn't do anything to dim the furious intensity of her glare.

"You have my deepest apologies." I spat. "Next time I pour my heart out to you, I'll try to find a less offensive method."

I hoped my anger would last. As long as I was boiling mad I couldn't be hopelessly depressed and I knew that stage was coming on fast. Aubrey had never been more wrong in her life as she had been about Chloe. I turned to go.

"How am I even supposed to know what to do with you, Beca?"

I looked back to find the glare gone and the tears falling thicker and faster than ever. She sank against the wall, looking tired.

"I meet you and you have all these walls, and I think maybe if I could get you to open up a little, it could be good. And it begins to work, it really does. And then there's that thing at Semi-finals and I know I should've backed you up, I know that. But you only gave me ten seconds to figure out how I could pick you over my best friend of 15 years and it was just so damn complicated. Can't you see that?"

She wasn't looking at me anymore, she was staring out the windows, almost talking to herself.

"And then you show up on my door, ready to move to L.A. Do you know how badly that hurt? How it ripped me to pieces to think I'd never hear from you again? How it killed me to hear you practically say that no one would ever love you? It felt like you'd shot me."

"Then you came back, but there's a Great Wall of China between us. We can't even smile at each other anymore. So you push me away and push me away. And all of a sudden you're on stage and you're singing…

She turned to look at me.

"What did it even mean, Beca? What did any of it mean?"

"It means I'm in love with you."

I let the admission fall into the space in between us, saying it because I knew I had to, even though every commitment-phobic fiber of my body screamed at me to stop. The words started tumbling out.

"It means I'm in love with you, even though I shouldn't be. It means I can't stay away anymore, even though it's half-killing me to be this close. It means I'm not titanium, not when it comes to you."

She stared at me, blue eyes unfairly big and shining with tears.

"What did _that _mean?"

I growled in frustration.

"It means I'm no good, Chlo. I'm poison. I'm so incredibly, unbelievably screwed up. I have more baggage than fits on a cargo jet and enough problems for five full-time therapists. It means no one like you should ever be with someone like me. But I can't help it. I'm not strong enough to stay away. So here I am."

She was angry again.

"That's what all those wall were about?! You told yourself you weren't good enough?! That's why you locked me out? You _idiot_!"

It was my turn to stare, struck dumb by the force of her onslaught.

"Why wouldn't I want to be with someone like you? Someone who is funny and smart and beautiful and real! Someone who lives and breathes music, not to win some competition but because she really loves it! What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that you have no idea, okay? You don't know that I never got over my mom's death. You don't know that me and my dad haven't had a friendly conversation since they got divorced. You don't know that I swore I'd never to let anyone in again because it hurt so badly when she died. I'm not even sure I have enough a heart left to really love someone again. Understand? You don't know any of it. Of the real me."

Silence fell for a few moments, until Chloe broke it with her soft words.

"That's not the real you." She looked me full in the face now. "Your mom's death—it happened and it was terrible. And, yeah, it will always be a part of you, for better or for worse. But it doesn't define you. Your life is more than that."

I looked back at her and I wondered. I wondered if she was right. I wondered about her and me. I could practically see what it would be like to be with her, to love her; a dream of happiness that was almost tangible, like I could reach out and grab it.

I let out a long sigh.

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. I must learn to be content with being happier than I deserve." (_Pride and Prejudice_)

I whispered the quote softly and watched as her face lit like a sunrise.

"You read the books," she said

And then she kissed me.

Like a scene out of a romance novel, she kissed me. Like a happy ending to a Disney movie, she kissed me. Like there were fireworks exploding and bells ringing and music playing, she kissed me.

_Goddamn. _I thought. _This is why people love those cheesy scenes so much_.

And then I didn't think anymore.


End file.
